


Waking Up

by Rainbow_Femme



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depending on how you define happy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I hate tagging and naming things., Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, after all the angst I've made, patrochilles - Freeform, revival, thought I should try something happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Femme/pseuds/Rainbow_Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles did not know how long he dozed, his arms circled protectively around the one thing in the world he had left to care for. He only knew that at some point, the soft flesh beneath his cheek began to warm. He thought nothing of it at first, thinking it was only the heat from his own body reflecting back at him, but he froze when, out of nowhere, the chest he lay against rose beneath him before falling, then rising again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up

Achilles returned to their tent as he always did, his hands achingly empty, his body throbbing, begging for rest and food he continued to deny it. He would not die if he was nourished and well rested, he needed to be at his weakest if he was going to finally fall and end this.

He walked to where Patroclus lay on their bed. He did not remember how long it had been since he had died, time no longer held meaning, but he still looked as he had the last time he had seen him alive, no sign that time was harming what was left of him, so it must not have been long still. Achilles had tied a cloth around his stomach, unable to look at the gaping wounds that had taken him away. If he did not see them, he could pretend Patroclus was sleeping. Patroclus had sometimes liked to sleep during the day so he could be awake when Achilles returned. For a moment each time he returned, he could pretend this was still true. That if he walked forward, brushed back that soft brown hair and pressed his chapped lips to the smooth skin of his forehead, it would be warm to the touch, and when he pulled away those large brown eyes would be gazing up at him with all the love in the world.

Darkness was falling outside their, his, tent, but it did not matter. No matter what the sun chose to do, he would lie with Patroclus when he was not fighting. There was nothing else he could do. He dragged his weary body far enough to fall onto the bed, his head resting on Patroclus' thigh. Even this hurt. There was no part of Patroclus he had not touched with part of himself, there was nowhere he could lie without remembering a thousand other times he had lain there, Patroclus' hand in his hair, smiling brightly and telling him about the bird he had seen over the ocean that day, or a man he had helped in the medical tent.

He moaned, turning his face to press into the cool skin, letting his hand rest just above Patroclus' knee. It was a torment, to have him but not have him, to touch him but not touch him. The body was nothing without the soul within it, but without even the body, he did not know if he could make himself continue as he did. He would be an empty shell, kept alive by nothing but the half immortality within him forcing his heart to continue beating. After a moment he lifted himself, repositioning his weary body so that his cheek could rest over Patroclus' still heart. He had always loved sleeping against his chest. He did not know how much longer he would have to do this before he had to truly let him go. Each day was a blurring haze mingling with the next of fighting and tears and holding his cold, too still lover.

Achilles did not know how long he dozed, his arms circled protectively around the one thing in the world he had left to care for. He only knew that at some point, the soft flesh beneath his cheek began to warm. He thought nothing of it at first, thinking it was only the heat from his own body reflecting back at him, but he froze when, out of nowhere, the chest he lay against rose beneath him before falling, then rising again. He did not allow himself to move, afraid this was a half dream he would wake from any moment, but then something warm grazed the skin of his back before settling against his hip, a soft noise like someone waking from a deep sleep came by his right ear. Slowly, very slowly, he lifted himself to sit beside Patroclus who, by way of an untold miracle, had opened his eyes.

His breathe halted in his chest as Patroclus looked at him blearily, confusion on his face that Achilles was sure could be found mirrored on his own. Tentatively, afraid to break whatever spell was surrounding them, he reached out a trembling hand to caress his cheek, finding it once again warm against his palm, breath from Patroclus' parted lips whispering over his wrist. 

A strangled sound clawing its way out of his throat, he lurched forward, wrapping himself tightly around Patroclus, gripping him to himself. And, for the first time since Patroclus had died, those warm arms came to rest around his own newly thin frame. Those warm hands seemed scorching after being cold for so long, but he welcomed the burning if it meant he could sear Patroclus into him for all eternity. He buried his face against his neck, pressing against that delicious pulsing at his throat. He gently brought one hand up to trace over the soft beat reverently.

"Have I told you how I love this?" His voice was cracked and raw with tears and under use but Patroclus chuckled weakly all the same and he felt his heart would break with happiness. "How? How are you here? And for how long? Will they take you away again?" He would not let them, never again. He had defeated one god, he could do it again. He would slay Zeus himself if he tried to take Patroclus from him again. His arm tightened possessively around him. Never again would he live without this.

"The gods made a decision. They grew tired of you killing every champion and hero sent before you. They knew they could not stop you as you sought to avenge my death, so I was given back to you in exchange for you ceasing to fight. They wish for you to leave the war and return to Phthia and allow Pyrrhus to be Aristos Achaion and end the war finally." He watched Achilles face curiously. Truly even with everything that had happened, the mourning and agony Achilles had gone through, he was not sure what his answer would be, if he could truly give up his title of best of Greeks and return home to live an innocuous life ruling a small kingdom.

He did not have to wonder for long as Achilles began nodding fervently the moment the words fell from his lips. "Anything, anything they wish." He gripped Patroclus' hand tightly between both of his. "Whatever is needed to keep you by my side." Patroclus smiled at him, a brilliant smile that seemed to ignite the entire world in a golden light, flooding Achilles with the life he had lost when Patroclus fell. After a moment of staring in abject awe at the man who had been returned to his arms, he realized that someone who had been dead probably needed medical help. At the very least, food and drink.

"Do you need anything? Do you hunger, or thirst?" He looked about his tent, realizing just how little he had. He had refused to take meals with the others and had not eaten what was brought to him. 

"Water, just water I think..." He swallowed, his throat rough and dry. Achilles nodded and scrambled off his, their, bed to find a waterskin. When he had it, he quickly turned back to Patroclus, afraid he would find him once again lying dead and the dream gone, but he was still there, alive and awake and struggling to sit upright on weak limbs. Achilles quickly assisted, supporting him behind his shoulders and grabbing any pillows in reach to cushion him. He continued to fuss until Patroclus took his hand gently and his whole body stilled. Patroclus always had that affect on him. His mind could be filled with a thousand thoughts raging like hornets, all trying to fly free in different directions, and all it took was Patroclus to hold him together and stop the madness. He had been so lost without him. More tears began rolling down his face as he softly sat beside him.

"You were gone." He fell forward a little, his face pressing into Patroclus' shoulder. Warm arms encircled him once again and he did not think he would ever again take them for granted. He closed his eyes tightly, holding onto him. "I felt it. I knew there was something wrong, I knew something had happened. I felt my heart die alongside you. I did not recognize it when it happened, but I did feel it." He tried to wipe the tears but now that he had started, now that he was speaking again to Patroclus despite all odds, he could not stop. "I was going to kill myself when I saw you. I wanted more than anything to not have to live one moment without you. I could not let you go, I hated myself for keeping you trapped here but I could not let you go, you're all I have Patroclus, you're the only thing I love, without you I'm nothing. I don't care about the fame or the glory anymore Patroclus, I just want you to stay with me. Please don't go again, I can't take being separated from my my heart one more time..."

Patroclus stroked his hair gently, wanting desperately to soothe him. His death had broken Achilles beyond measure, it would take time to heal him again. It would be a long time, he knew, before Achilles would be able to stand being parted from him for more than a moment. Truthfully, he had hardly been able to stand it before his death. But now he and Achilles would be together again, and he had nothing but time to heal his beloved.

When Achilles had composed himself he helped Patroclus drink what he could of the water, as well as eat a few bites of the figs he had kept in the tent, agreeing to eat and drink as well. Finally, after both had eaten what their delicate stomachs could handle, he carefully unwrapped the cloth from his stomach to see the wound fully healed, a harsh but clean scar the only remains of the death blow. He ran his fingers over it in wonder, a new star added to the Patroclus constellation he would thoroughly memorize.

"I should probably fetch someone from the medical tent to see you, shouldn't I?" Achilles traced the scare, nervous to leave. Once again, he feared this was all some dream of his starved mind, that they would all come with him to see the miracle only to see a dead Patroclus where he saw a live one. He would rather live eternally in the lie, should it be one, than face the crushing reality of the loss once again, made sharper by searing edge of hope. But if this truly was his Patroclus, then he would need more help than Achilles could provide.

Patroclus nodded. "I think that might help." He caressed Achilles cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Achilles nodded against his hand but made no move to leave, holding Patroclus' other hand between his own, tracing the lines of his palm. He had not forgotten one. He had run his hands over every inch of Patroclus obsessively, refusing to forget any part of him. If he awoke and could not remember how many freckles marked his shoulder, or the precise place where the dark hair of his head met the softer, lighter hair of his neck he would find it all over again, berating himself for daring to forget one thing about him. 

Finally he forced himself to stand, to let go of his hand, and to place a kiss goodbye against his brow before walking out of his tent, making Patroclus promise he would stay in bed. It was not yet late and many soldiers and civilians still milled about, looking at him in mild surprise. He had not left his tent for anything but battle since Patroclus died. He walked quietly to the tent, entering after a moment of deep breaths, forcing himself to truly believe that Patroclus was waiting for him in their tent. The men looked up, just as surprised as the others.

"Prince Achilles, is there something wrong? Were you injured today?"

He swallowed, unable to explain exactly what he needed of them. "Would one of you come back to my tent with me for a moment? I wish to show you something." He knew saying Patroclus was alive was the surest way for them to not believe him. Hopefully their own eyes would be more trusted than his voice. 

Podalerius agreed to follow, Machaon too busy aiding an injured soldier. He knew the man was incredulous of his need and it made him even more nervous. He wanted to be back in his tent with Patroclus, phantom or real. But when he drew back the flap and revealed Patroclus leaning over in their bed, trying to reach a discarded tunic from the floor without technically leaving the bed, his heart soared once again, and it soared even more when Podalerius drew back, swearing under his breath.

"By the gods..." He stared openly, Patroclus flushing a bit and quickly clothing himself, obviously as unsure how to proceed as Achilles was. Podalerius ran back towards the medical tent, calling for the others come quickly. Achilles walked back to Patroclus and kissed him, holding him close, wanting to somehow thank him for being real and staying while he was away. 

Within moments it seemed that the entire camp was either within their tent or just outside, everyone clambering to hear if it was true that a man had returned from the dead. Machaon took full stock of Patroclus' health but found nothing wrong with him besides undernourishment. With happiness and confusion he prescribed food and rest, both of which Achilles was happy to give. Odysseus, Agamemnon, and Menelaus were in the tent as well, all asking how it possibly came to be. Patroclus answered all questions while Achilles took himself just outside and washed for the first time since Patroclus died. He scrubbed his skin raw, desperate to remove the blood and dust, suddenly mortified by it. He raked olive soap through his hair until it shown like it had before, like Patroclus liked it. He knew how Patroclus had always stared at him, like a glowing god among mortals. He wanted to be like that again for him, he wanted to deserve this gift that had been returned to him. When he reentered he felt a little like his old self again, another little piece of himself returned to its rightful place. Patroclus smiled when he saw him, reaching out a hand until Achilles took it, sitting beside him. For once, Patroclus was the center of attention and he was on the side. He decided it was nice. He wanted everyone to be as in awe of him as Achilles had always been.

Agamemnon was the only unhappy one. "Does this mean you will cease to fight?"

Achilles nodded. "The gods foresee that Troy shall not fall by my hands, it was only Hector I needed to kill. You shall fare without me. I wish simply to return to my father and my home and leave behind the mess of war, with Patroclus by my side."

Agamemnon began arguing, saying they all wished to do the same but could not just abandon their place in the war, but Odysseus silenced him, agreeing that they should follow the will of the gods, even if that meant losing Aristos Achaion. 

When it grew too late for even those looking to gaze on miracles, everyone departed, leaving Achilles alone with a sleepy Patroclus. His head was drooping to Achilles shoulder and he tried to keep himself calm, telling himself that if Patroclus slept he would still wake up. He had proven himself every other time Achilles had worried he would not still be there, he would prove himself once again. They were staying long enough for Patroclus to regain his strength, then they would board a ship with their myrmidons and go back to their boyhood home. He would see Patroclus reach his 29th birthday, he would embrace his father again, he would grow to become king and rule with Patroclus at his shoulder at all times. Perhaps they would see Chiron again and the rose quartz cave. All that mattered was they would be together like this, always. This and this and this, once again. As his eyes slowly drifted closed, his head once again rested over Patroclus' chest, he exulted at the rhythmic beating beneath his cheek, the even breaths stirring the curls at the top of his head. 

Patroclus watched him sleep, stroking his hair. Achilles had believed what he told him, he knew he would. He knew Achilles would cling to anything that meant they would be together again.

He was not yet ready for the truth. No, that would take time. When Patroclus had first entered the afterlife, Achilles had embraced him and they drank each other in thirstily. But Achilles has been here far longer than Patroclus had. He had created a prison for himself, punishing himself for what he had done. He did not remember that he was dead. In his world he had created, he was eternally fighting a never ending war with Patroclus' corpse his only comfort. He could not accept that Patroclus had truly returned and that they could spend eternity in the Elysian fields. He had forgotten their reunion and returned to his self imposed containment, still believing Patroclus gone from him. So the only way to reach him was to join his world and make a space for himself. Everyone else was very similar to how they had been in life to the best of Achilles' memory. Agamemnon was angry, Odysseus was sharp tongued but helpful. It was almost a little comical, the exaggerated versions of their friends.

He hoped that in time he could heal Achilles to the point where he could accept what had happened, that they truly had died apart but were now reunited. But until then, they would live the life he had always wanted them to. They would live among the shadows of old friends and loved ones, see old places they had loved. Patroclus had been saddened to notice the lack of Briseis' presence in Achilles secluded world but he understood it. He knew Achilles would find it too painful, being around the other person who could have been his companion. Perhaps one day the shadow of her memory would join them and they could be their happy orphaned family again. But until the day that he saw her again, and the day that Achilles would understand all that had happened, he would delight in the knowledge that it was the true Achilles he held again in his arms, and every kiss and smile was earnest and heartfelt, and every sign of progression was a sign that the wound on his heart was healing. And, after centuries of being apart, it was all finally enough, and he could close his eyes and rest.


End file.
